


Prince of Winterfell

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forced Marriage, Protective Sansa Stark, Ratings and warnings may change, Sibling Bonding, well more like coerced marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29406315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Ned Stark never took his daughters South with him, but he still died. The Young Wolf still went to war for his father, and Theon Greyjoy  still chose his birth family over his captors.And then the new, self-titled Prince of Winterfell offers Sansa Stark a deal to keep her younger siblings safe.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is posted on my tumblr as the ‘Winterfell AU’, I’ll try and post it in chronological order - which might mean chapters change place occasionally! 
> 
> Chapter prompt: Could we get a look at Theon offering his Deal in that angsty Theonsa au?

They had come during the night, swum the moat and snuck inside. The first Sansa had known of it was when she realised she had been locked in her chamber the next morning. The first she had seen their invader was when she was escorted to the Great Hall to witness Bran being forced to surrender to the man who they had once looked upon as similar to a brother.

It was a final cruelty, an additional pain, one which Sansa knew might very well break her brother as he fought for them.

She wanted to cry and break and scream, but she could not. She had to remain strong for her siblings, she had to be as brave as Robb.

She kept her head held high even when the invader summoned her to her own Father’s solar, ignoring the indignity of such a summons. 

“I have a deal that I might offer you, princess.” Theon Greyjoy said, a smile that did not reach his eyes upon his face, “It is one that we might find mutually beneficial.”

Sansa set her shoulders and met his eyes with a strength that she drew from the thought of Robb, “Tell me your deal then, Greyjoy.”

Theon’s shoulders relaxed, “Simple, you marry me and I will not lay a finger upon your younger siblings.”

He could not be serious, could he? He could not truly believe that Sansa would marry him?

Sansa struggled to keep back the incredulity that wanted to escape, the anger that wanted to erupt at the thought of marrying the man who had invaded her home.

It would not do to upset him. It would not let him know just how distasteful he found the idea. Not when to anger him could ensure that he turned cruel, that he took out said anger on her brothers or sister or her people.

“I shall think upon your offer.” Sansa said, in her most imperious voice, “And discuss it with my brother.”

She barely waited for his nod of acknowledgment before she swept out of the room. 

She would never marry Theon Greyjoy. Never. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompt: “Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?”

Sansa pulled Rickon closer to her, tucking his face into her skirts so that he did not have to bear witness to the horrors that were happening inside their home.

She was the oldest, it was her job to keep the others safe. Robb was fighting in the Riverlands, Father was dead, and Mother… Mother was with Robb.

Mother had told Sansa before she left that she was the de facto Lady of Winterfell now, that she had to support Bran when he made decisions as the acting Lord. 

And now, now with Robb as King that meant they were all princes and princesses. 

Or well, they would have been, if not for the boy they had thought of as a brother taking their home from them in the middle of the night.

And now it had come to this, to standing in the courtyard as the man who tried to save them all was led to a block.

“He can’t do this.” Arya fumed, her hand gripping on to Sansa’s own with a fierce strength, “He can’t kill Ser Rodrik, we have to do something.”

Sansa squeezed Arya’s hand back, “We can’t. We can’t do anything.”

Bran looked up at her accusingly, “ _ You  _ can. You could take Theon’s deal.”

Sansa swallowed, “I could. But- I- I would need your permission to do so.”

Arya’s head snapped to them both, “What deal?”

“Theon has told me, that- that if I agree to marry him to legitimise his rule then- then I might save some people.”

“Then why not do it? Why not save Ser Rodrik?” Bran’s voice was full of innocent confusion, he truly did not know what he was asking Sansa to do.

“Because then Sansa would belong to him, idiot. And it could make what he’s doing here legitimate.” Arya scoffed, “Don’t you know anything.”

Bran scowled, but he did not say anything. He could not. Not when at that moment Theon had unsheathed his sword and had it hovering above Ser Rodrik’s neck.

“If you have any final words then I will hear them.” He said, a hint of almost petulance in his voice.

“If you do this, then you will be damned, Theon Greyjoy.” Ser Rodrik spat, glaring up at Theon.

Drums started to pound in Sansa’s ears, for how could she just stand back and let someone die when she had the means to stop them?

She let go of her sister, and pushed Rickon so he was clutching at Arya instead, and mustered all the courage she could gather to step forwards.

“Stop!”

Her cry rang out through the courtyard, stilling all motion and causing every head to turn her way.

“Do not kill him.” She ordered, her head held high and hoping that her voice was at least half as commanding as her mother’s, “Do not kill him and I will take your deal, my lord.”

Arya’s shout of horror behind her seemed as if to be travelling through porridge to reach her ears, all of Sansa’s attention was focused on the boy who held the blade that might decide all their fates.

“My lady,” Ser Rodrik’s eyes bulged with horror, “Do not do something you might regret for my sake.”

Sansa ignored him and strode across the courtyard to Theon, praying her fear was not evident on her face.

“Be silent.” Theon snapped, “Are you telling me the truth, princess? Will you be my bride?”

“Aye.” She steadfastly ignored the sense of horror from her people, “I will.”

Theon muttered something to the men by his side, and they quickly wrestled Ser Rodrik to his feet and bang to drag him in the direction of the cells.

The bitter pang of relief filled her soul at the sight, at the knowledge that he might keep some of his word.

“Can you promise me that no one else has to get hurt?” Sansa asked Theon, her eyes as hard as flint, “Can you promise me that you will not lay a hand on any of my siblings or our subjects?”

Theon bowed over her hand and looked up at her with eyes as hard as her own, “That I can, princess. Take my cloak and I promise that I shall not harm anyone you do not tell me to.”

Sansa took a deep breath and took his hand in her own, “Very well. Then, as a show of your sincerity, I ask that you release Ser Rodrik from the cells.”

Theon’s eyes met hers once again, and a cold smile split his face. 

“I am not stupid,  _ princess _ , I know that if I release Ser Rodrik from the cells than I am more likely than not to wake with a blade in my heart and you all having vanished into the wilderness.” He used his other hand to trail a cold finger down her cheek, “Ser Rodrik has his head, and warmth, and food, be thankful for that.”

Sansa swallowed, and tried not to let her disappointment show. She  _ had _ planned to have Ser Rodrik escape with Arya and Rickon at the very least, have them get to Robb and the relative safety of a war camp.

“Very well.” Sansa inclined her head, “May I be permitted to see Ser Rodrik at least? I should like to see for myself that he is unharmed.”

“A supervised visit.” Theon nodded, and pulled Sansa closer to him, “I do not want you plotting behind my back.”

Sansa smiled as sweetly as she could, “Of course. Not that I would dream of plotting against my lord husband.”

Theon’s answering smile was equally saccharine. “Of course.”

He pressed a dry kiss to her lips, and for all Sansa could hear the protests of her siblings behind her she could not bring herself to regret her decision.

Better she suffer than them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompt: “If I told you I hate you, what would you do?”

Sansa did not want to sit in the chair that was by all rights her mother’s. She did not want to sit next to the man lounging in her father’s chair, in  _ Robb’s  _ chair.

But she had to. She had to pretend that she was happy to be planning a wedding to the man who had stolen her home and betrayed her brother, and nearly killed her people. She had to pretend, else her siblings would worry and her people would do something stupid that would mean she couldn’t protect them.

“If I told you I hate you, what would you do?” Sansa asked lightly, running a finger along the knife by her plate and smiling sweetly. 

Theon smiled just as sweetly and lowered his hand over hers, “I would be more concerned, princess, if you did not hate me.”

It took all her self control, and the reminder to herself that she was not Arya, to keep from stabbing her knife through his hand. It would hardly do her any good, and might even incense him enough to go back upon their deal.

“That is good.” Sansa took a sip of wine. “For I rather feel as though I hate you near as much as I despise the Lannisters for killing father.”

Theon’s smile tightened, and his eyes flashed with the briefest moment of rage.

“Oh? And what have I done that is so terrible as killing your beloved father?”

Sansa’s eyes flitted to Bran, to Rickon, to Arya, and she drew strength from the sight of her siblings. 

“You betrayed my brother. You stole my home. You threatened my people to get me to agree to marriage. The only thing you have not yet done, Theon Greyjoy, is cause physical harm to me or my family, although I suppose that might well be but a matter of time.” She forcibly kept her tone light and pleasant, the better to keep her siblings from paying too close attention and trying to step in.

“You do not have to marry me, you know, it is your choice. I am perfectly happy to have heads decorating the gates instead of my cloak upon your back.” Theon shrugged carelessly.

Sansa resisted the urge to scream at him that it was no choice at all, instead she hummed with the same artful lack of care that he was displaying. 

“Ah, but how do I know it would not be my brothers’ heads above the gates of our home?” She said, as she glanced once more at Bran and Rickon to assure herself of their safety, “How do I know that you will not hurt them any more than you already have, if we do not hold a deal to prevent such a thing?”

“I have not yet harmed those siblings in this room, to the best of my knowledge. Nor would I, I do not hurt children.”

Sansa scoffed. “You made them feel unsafe in their own home, you tried to make them witness the death of one they loved, you threaten their sister. You have harmed my younger siblings whether you like it or not.”

“Well then,” Theon’s voice went so quiet that Sansa struggled to hear it, “I suppose that I have harmed your siblings. Probably as much harm as carrying the sword that might one day have been used to cleave my head from my shoulders did to me.”

Sansa could not think about that. She could not let herself think of how Theon was right, that he had been ill treated by her father, even if they had all seen him as a brother.

She supposed she couldn’t let herself think of that either, she could not let herself think of the Theon who was almost a brother. Not if she was to marry him.

She did not let Theon see that he had scored a point there, she would not. 

Instead she ran an assessing eye over his siblings again, drawing strength from them. She could put up with almost anything if it kept them safe and happy. 

Besides, she was sure Robb was making plans to rescue them at that very moment, if he didn’t already have one in motion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter prompt: In the Winterfell AU, how does Robb find out about what Theon did?

‘ _Robb of House Stark, King in the North and the Trident._

_ You are cordially invited to witness the marriage of Theon of House Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands and Winterfell, and Sansa of House Stark, Princess of the North and the Trident. _

_ The event will take place in the Godswood of Winterfell, and we invite you to join us in celebrating the union of our great Houses.’ _

There was more information after that, but Robb’s vision was too clouded with rage to read it. He knew that Theon had taken Winterfell, had received a raven from Ser Rodrik telling him so and of his plans to retake it. 

Ser Rodrik must have failed. 

And now- now Theon fucking Greyjoy had decided to rub salt in the wound by daring to marry Robb’s sister.

He had known the raven bearing the kraken of House Greyjoy had been bad news, but he had not expected it to be this. He hadn’t though Theon would have the balls to pull such a move in all honesty, not when he knew that Robb would kill him for even thinking of such a thing. 

A scrawl at the bottom of the note caught his eye, one written in Theon’s messy handas opposed to the neat lettering of the Maester.

_ ‘You always called me your brother, Stark, and now I will be in truth. Mayhaps you have the greensight? You can be reassured that I will treasure sweet Sansa, and besides, what better husband for a princess than a prince?” _

Robb did not care that his scream of rage caused panic in the camp, he did not care that his scream of rage made guards rush into his tent with their weapons drawn.

All he could do was stare at the missive, stare at the handwriting taunting him, all he could do was think about how to possibly prevent the wedding. 

And if the horrified expression on his mother’s expression as she read the missive was anything to go by, she felt exactly the same way. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Omg I'm hooked on the Prince of Winterfell AU :0. What does the wedding look like?

Sansa swallowed heavily at the sight of the cloak hanging from her wardrobe. She did not want to put it on, not when it would signal the beginning of the end. 

Once she put it on it would only be a few hours before she was no longer Sansa Stark, but instead Sansa Greyjoy.

She had never wanted to be a Greyjoy, but she had no choice.

A hand touched her shoulder, “You don’t have to do this.” Arya said earnestly, “You don’t have to marry him, we can find another way.”

Sansa smiled sadly and turned to face her sister, “There isn’t. Not unless Robb makes it all this way, sieges the castle, and somehow manages to get inside all before tonight.”

She would admit only to herself that she had eagerly been looking for her brother’s banners for the past few mornings, hoping against hope that he would appear outside the gates and put a halt to the wedding.

“Can- can you braid your hair for me?” Sansa asked, suddenly feeling shy, “I always thought Mother would braid it for me on my wedding day, and while- while I could ask Jeyne or Beth or Septa Mordane, I- I want you to do it.”

Arya looked at her hands and then back up at Sansa, a surprisingly vulnerable expression on her face, “Really? You want me to do it?”

“I do. You’re my  _ sister _ Arya, and even if we don’t always get along I still love you.”

Arya’s face lit up with a pleased smile, “Sit down then, I can’t reach your head, you’re too tall.”

Sansa sat, but she could not resist a friendly jab at her sister, “I am not too tall, you are just short.”

Arya snorted and scoffed, but her hands were gentle as they threaded through her hair.

“How do you want it? I can’t do anything stupidly complicated like those southern ladies wore theirs.”

Sansa thought for a moment, “Could- could you do it like Mother’s please? I- I want to have a piece of her here with me.”

Arya took a deep breath, “Of course. Hold still, I don’t want to have to redo it again if you move and muck it up.”

—

The Godswood looked almost as Sansa had always imagined it for her wedding, and she found herself hating Theon a little more for having listened and remembered her girlhood daydreams. 

The path was lined with flowers and ribbons and candles, and strewn with herbs that were sure to release a gentle scent when stepped upon. Everyone in Winterfell was there to see her wed, except perhaps a few of the guards or kitchen maids. It only made the absence of her family even more apparent. 

Bran and Arya were there, waiting near the tree for her and Rickon was at her side, giving her away in Bran’s and Robb’s and Father’s place. Her baby brother was clinging to her, his hand clenched around her fingers as tight as when he had been learning to walk. 

She took a deep breath, smiled down at her baby brother, and pasted her mother’s smile on her face. It was the thin smile, the polite one she had used when speaking to Cersei Lannister.

She would smile and be polite, to keep her family safe, but she would not feign happiness. Not for anyone.

Together she and Rickon started to walk down the long path to the Heart Tree, her skirts whispering along the ground. There was little celebration on the faces around her, more a stoic pity, or a gratefulness and acknowledgment of her sacrifice. 

Theon came into view, strikingly, infuriatingly, handsome in his black and gold velvets. He wore a heavy cloak, one that Sansa refused to look at, for soon it would be placed on her back. A cocky smirk graced his face, and absently Sansa wondered how long he had been planning this, whether he had been planning it even while swearing himself to Robb.

When she and Rickon finally stopped, Sansa made sure that Theon could see every inch of the disdain she felt for him. He almost flinched back, from the weight of her glare, and his aborted flinch soothed some of the rage in her chest.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Theon asked, his voice steady and yet for some reason containing a hint of nerves.

“Sansa of House Stark.” Rickon said, the words having been coached into him for almost as long as the betrothal had lasted, “Princess of the North and the Trident. A woman grown, true born and noble. Who claims her?”

Theon stepped slightly closer, “Theon of House Greyjoy. Prince of the Iron Islands, Prince of Winterfell. Who gives her?”

Rickon squeezed Sansa’s hand even tighter for a moment, “Rickon of House Stark, her brother.”

Theon took Sansa’s hand from him, and cradled it loosely in his own. He met her eyes once more. 

“Do you, Princess Sansa, take this man?”

Sansa opened her mouth to answer, to tie herself to Theon for the rest of her life, but she could not answer. 

Not when a horn blew outside the walls, impatient and loud. Not when a guard burst into the Godswood, out of breath and fearful.

“My lord! There- there’s an army! Outside the gates! They demand a halt to the wedding!”

A small burst of hope filled Sansa’s heart, perhaps Robb somehow had come for her? 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: That Winterfell AU has me hooked, who came to stop the wedding?

Theon let out a growl of anger, and Sansa could not help but flinch away. His hand clenched hers in a tight, almost painful grasp, and his other flee to the clasps of his cloak.

“Well they will be too late. Do you take me as your husband, Sansa, and fulfill your side of the bargain?”

Sansa had no choice. “I take you.” She whispered, her dash of hope snatched away.

A glare from Theon had Rickon reaching up on his tiptoes to unclasp her own cloak and take it in his arms.

“Then I take you as my wife and cloak you with my protection.” Theon said, and with his single free hand swung his cloak around her shoulders. 

It was done. She was married. 

Almost as soon as she was wed, Theon sprang into action, barking orders to the guards and his men.

“Have the Starks taken to an inner chamber and guard them well,” He barked, and his most loyal man rushed to obey. 

They did not touch Sansa though, even as they hustled her siblings inside. But then, Sansa was no longer a Stark, she was a Greyjoy now.

Her new husband did not let go of her hand as he tugged her to the parapets above the gate, so that he could view the army awaiting them himself. Undoubtedly she would be a taunt, or a hostage, or both, for Robb or whoever he might have sent. 

Pink and red banners flew above a host of men outside the gates, and Sansa felt a burst of disappointment that it was not Robb there for her. He had sent someone though, and they had almost arrived in time.

A man dressed in dark leathers, a pink cloak on his back, stood at the front of the host.

“Theon of House Greyjoy, by order of the King in the North, you are ordered to stand down from your occupation of Winterfell and release the Princes and Princesses from your custody.” The man called up, his voice soft and commanding, “Do this, and King Robb has decreed that you might be allowed to join the Watch unchallenged.”

Theon laughed an ugly laugh and leaned over the parapets, “Who are you to order me so?”

Sansa was not overly surprised that he had not recognised the banners, Theon had never had much of a head for the other Houses in their lessons with the Maester.

“I am but a humble messenger,” The man bowed, “Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton’s natural son, at your service.”

“Well,  _ Snow _ ,” Theon sneered, “You are too late. Princess Sansa is already my wedded wife. You shall have to return to your king with news of your failure.”

Even from a distance Sansa could see the anger that crossed Ramsay Snow’s face, whether at Theon’s dismissal or at the sneering way he had spoken his name.

“So you decline the King’s generous offer?” Snow called up, no trace of the anger on his face in his voice.

“Aye.” Theon spat over the wall, “I decline it. Return to Robb Stark and tell him that I will enjoy my wedding night with his sister in his parents’ bed.”

Sansa swallowed heavily, she had managed to put the thought of a wedding night out of her mind. Would Theon be kind? Would he treat her like a Lady? Or would he take out his anger upon her?

She was tugged forwards, so that she could be seen by the men below. Tugged forwards until she was almost leaning over the parapets.

“Princess Sansa,” Ramsay Snow looked up at her with concern etched on his features, “Are you well, my lady? Has this Ironborn brute harmed you in any way?”

The grip tightened, a warning if Sansa had ever known one. 

“Prince Theon has not yet harmed me,” Sansa called back, “He has kept his word thus far, and has not harmed anyone within these walls.”

Ramsay Snow smiled, “Well, my lady, I shall do all in mine and my men’s power to keep it that way. Theon Greyjoy will not be allowed to hurt you.”

Sansa smiled back at his reassurance, for all that Theon’s grip was almost painful on her arm, for all that her wedding night still stood ahead of her, she could not help but feel like nothing bad could happen while there was someone there to rescue her.

After all, Ramsay Snow was one of her brother’s men, there was no way he would ever harm her or her siblings. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: OMG I almost gasped out loud at that Winterfell AU post! How are the little siblings dealing with their sister's disaster wedding?

Arya felt so helpless, watching her sister stand before the Heart Tree with the man who had once been like a brother to them. She wanted to shout, and scream, and cause a commotion that would allow Sansa to escape.

But her lips were stuck together, as though there was a glue holding them shut. She could not make a single sound, only clutch at Bran’s hands and send up her own prayers to the Old Gods for her sister to be delivered from her fate.

It had almost seemed as though her prayers had been answered when the horns blew and there was news of an army outside their gates. Even when Sansa was cloaked in Theon’s colours there was still that chance that she might become a widow before she was fully wed.

Arya would have offered her that opportunity herself if possible, but Needle had been taken from her in the initial invasion. She could still hear Theon’s laughter as he took it from her, the way his tone had been filled with a mocking sort of almost-affection 

He had even dared to ruffle her hair, like he had forgotten for a moment that he was no longer a brother figure taking away the bow she had stolen from Bran again, like he had forgotten that he was an invader taking away her one avenue of defence. 

She barely noticed the orders he gave, far too occupied with staring daggers at the harsh grasp Theon had upon Sansa’s hand. Arya only really realised what was happening, and broke her gaze, when a hand landed upon her arm and started to drag her inside the keep.

Arya glared at the Ironborn who dared to touch her and try to chivvy them along faster. She shrugged his hand off of her and deliberately stopped so that she could pick up Rickon onto her hip. Petty, to be sure, but Arya was proud of how petty she could be when she wanted.

She was not surprised that they were taken to the nursery to be held, it was an easily guarded room by design. She was mostly just relieved that they had thought to put them somewhere where Bran could be set down for long periods, else he would have quickly become uncomfortable. 

She set Rickon down on the carpet, and helped Bran from the chair on which he had been dumped to the one near the windowsill. If she knew her brother he would want to try and grab a glimpse of what was going on below them. 

“Arya?” Rickon asked, his voice small and scared, “Will Sansa be alright? Theon isn’t going to hurt her, is he?”

Arya forced a comforting smile onto her face, the sort of smile that their mother used to smile at them after a nightmare, and sat down next to him. “Of course not. Theon would not dare to hurt her, he needs Sansa.”

Rickon curled into her side, placated for the moment. 

“It’s the Boltons.” Bran said, from the window. “That’s who Robb sent to save us.”

A memory of a missive niggled at the back of Arya’s mind, of news of Lady Hornwood’s marriage and death to a bastard son of Roose Bolton. They had been planning on summoning said bastard to Winterfell to answer for his crimes before Theon had arrived, but obviously had been unable to do so. 

Arya pushed the worry out of her mind, she was sure it was a different bastard, it was entirely possible that Roose Bolton had multiple bastard sons. It might not even be one of them who was leading the Bolton forces! Lord Bolton could have sent his men with a trusted commander, like Robb had done with Ser Rodrick.

“Arya?” Rickon piped up again, “Will the Boltons be like the ones in Old Nan’s stories? Do you think they are wearing skin cloaks?”

Arya and Bran shared commiserating looks at the bloodthirsty glee of their baby brother. Rickon had always adored the stories of the Red Kings, and undoubtedly he was hoping to see one play out before them. 

Arya hoped otherwise. For all that Theon had taken Winterfell, betrayed Robb, and dared to coerce Sansa into marriage, she would not wish that fate upon her worst enemy.

And despite his attempts, Theon was most certainly not even close to being that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: In the Winterfell AU, did Jon find out about Sansa and Theon's marriage like Robb did?

There were whispers floating around Castle Black, whispers that all seemed to mysteriously stop when Jon went anywhere near them. He did not like it, and it left him feeling jumpy.

He was just about to go up to one and demand what was going on, to demand that they tell him the rumours that were being kept from him, when Sam came to him with worry painting his features.

“Jon, there’s a letter that I think you should see. It- it’s an old one. It arrived while you were- were-“

“While I was with the Free Folk?” Jon said tiredly, “Very well, show me the letter.”

Sam led him through the castle, past men who looked at him with awe, men who looked at him with fear, and men who looked at him with a sort of peculiar amusement. Up, up, up they went until they reached the Maester's tower.

The air of the tower was heady with must and the scent of aged books. It was an almost comforting scent, one that took him back to his lessons with Maester Luwin, Robb and Theon back in Winterfell.

The seal was broken on the scroll that Sam handed to him, the wax direwolf broken cleanly in two.

Jon traced his name on the outside, the letters achingly familiar. He briefly looked up to Sam, and the sorrow and guilt and  _ pity _ on his face made him fearful of opening the letter. 

But he was brave, and better he hear any bad news from his brother than from the cruelties of the rumour mill of the Watch.

_ ‘Jon, _

_ I know you have taken your vows, I know that you may not leave the Wall. And yet I find myself begging you to do what I am unable. _

_ Rude south to Winterfell, ride south and free our siblings. _

_ I had trusted Theon, had sent him back to Pyke in the hopes of gaining an alliance, but he betrayed me. He took Winterfell in his family’s name, and even now he is plotting to marry our sweet sister. _

_ Please, Jon, I beg of you. Ride to Winterfell. Save our siblings.  _

_ I shall pardon you your desertion as soon as I am able.  _

_ Please, Jon, please. _

_ Robb,  _

_ King in the North and the Trident.’ _

The letter was dated weeks previously, crumpled and stained as though it had travelled for a long way. And Jon supposed it had, that it had travelled far from Robb’s camp in the Riverlands or Westerlands. 

Jon looked at the familiar loops and curves of his brother’s handwriting, and then at the brother who stood before him garbed in black.

He had no real choice, not when it came to his family. Not when it came to his little siblings.

His mind was made up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If there are any things you would like to see in this fic please let me know in the comments or over on tumblr.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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